


i'm going to let the future in

by decideophobia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blowjobs, Future Fic, M/M, wedding fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-08-19
Packaged: 2017-12-24 01:22:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decideophobia/pseuds/decideophobia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“All I hear is ‘wedding day’ and it makes me want to vomit on you.”</p><p>Scott looks exasperated for a moment, tightens his grasp on Stiles’ shoulders. “Breathe with me,” he says then in a grave tone, his serious face on. He takes  a deep breath, trying to set the pace.</p><p>“Are you seriously trying to use your pregnant wife’s breathing exercises on me?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm going to let the future in

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by Goda's [idea](http://alphavenger.tumblr.com/post/58538255552/mmm-you-know-whats-nice-to-think-about-stiles) and it was like an itch I had to scratch. Sorry. 
> 
> It's in the same verse as my other wedding fic, this can be seen as a sequel. You don't have to read the other one, though, to understand this one.

Stiles’ fingers shake so hard he can’t even pin the flower to his lapel. Lydia snaps at him, exasperated and impatient, swats his hands away and artfully arranges the blossom. She says something but he’s so nervous he doesn’t listen to her. His heart is hammering against his ribs, his hands are sweaty and--god, he’s so fucking nervous. 

Stiles has been through a lot, okay, _a lot_. Nothing has made him this nervous before. 

Of course, that’s when Scott decides to remind him, “Hey, remember Boyd’s and Erica’s wedding when Isaac had a whole in his pants? I still dream about his Hello Kitty boxers sometimes.”

Stiles can’t even muster enough willpower or focus to glare his best friend--best man, for fuck’s sake--into the ground. 

“Not helping,” Stiles grits out while Lydia smoothes out creases in his tux that aren’t there. She’s been all up in his space all morning. It hasn’t done anything to help calm him down either. 

“Dude,” Scott says, gently pushing Lydia out of the way, and puts both his hands on Stiles’ shoulders. “It’s your wedding day. It’s normal to be nervous.”

“All I hear is ‘wedding day’ and it makes me want to vomit on you.”

Scott looks exasperated for a moment, tightens his grasp on Stiles’ shoulders. “Breathe with me,” he says then in a grave tone, his serious face on. He takes a deep breath, trying to set the pace.

“Are you seriously trying to use your pregnant wife’s breathing exercises on me?”

“I’m trying to help you,” Scott replies patiently. Stiles’ sees Lydia roll her eyes in his periphery. She casts a look at the clock on the wall.

“Fifteen minutes until the ceremony,” she announces as she saunters away and out of the room, already yelling last orders at somebody outside. 

Stiles feels like he’s going to hyperventilate any minute now. He’s pretty sure neither Boyd nor Scott have been such a mess on their wedding days. It’s not like Stiles isn’t sure about this. He is. He wants this. In the last couple of months he fulfilled the quota of using the word “fiancé” for at least three lifetimes, wrote fifteen different wedding vows and changed his mind about cakes at least nine times. This is the day he’s been looking forward to ever since Derek accepted his proposal. 

Now, he’s all over the place and can’t calm down. The wedding is fifteen minutes away and Stiles is pretty sure he’s going to trip over his own feet on his way down the aisle; or puke on Scott, or worse--on Derek; or forgets his vows; or--

“Do you have the rings?”

“I do.” Scott beams like a deranged sun. He does that everytime he thinks he made a great pun. It’s adorable.

“Do I have a hole in my pants?”

Before Scott can answer, the door to the room opens and Isaac pops his head in. “Scott, we need you.”

Scott nods, squeezes Stiles’ shoulders and stalks away with Isaac leaving Stiles to freak out alone. He tries to take deep breaths, tries to calm his thundering heartbeat. Stiles kneads his hands, pulls and tugs at the ends of his tux and barely keeps from running his hands through his hair. 

Oh god.

He’s getting married.

It’s his wedding day, something has to go horribly wrong. He’s just not that lucky. 

“Hey.”

Stiles jerks hard, turns and flails at the sound of Derek’s soft voice. He hasn’t even noticed him slipping into the room. Derek’s next to him in an instant and Stiles is pretty sure his heart skips a beat. He’s seen Derek in his tux before but that’s never been on their wedding day--and somehow, somehow Derek in his tux on the day of their wedding makes it ten times better. 

“Come on,” Derek orders quietly. He doesn’t wait for Stiles’ reaction, grabs his hand instead and leads him to the upstairs bathroom. Stiles keeps staring at his back, taking in Derek’s dark frame and wonders how he ended up here. He feels like crying. 

“What are you doing?” Stiles asks snapping out of his trance when Derek locks the bathroom door. 

Derek’s smiling, slow and wolfish, as he pushes Stiles’ back against the door, and answers, “Clearing your head,” before he dives in and slots their mouths together. 

Derek doesn’t waste anytime. His hands have Stiles’ belt undone and button open before Stiles realizes what exactly is going on. When Derek kisses him, the rest of the world always fades out and everything narrows down to the feeling of his lips against Stiles’. It’s all-encompassing, demanding, and Stiles can’t help but moan when Derek’s tongue slides against his. 

“Derek,” Stiles gasps when he breaks away. There’s a hand down his pants stroking him purposefully to hardness. It sends shivers down his spine. “The ceremony is i-- _oh god, do that again_ \--‘ifteen minutes.”

His voice sounds breathless and weak. Derek quirks an eyebrow at him, like he can’t quite believe what Stiles just said. “I’m jerking you off right now and you think about the start of the ceremony?”

“Fifteen minutes, Derek,” Stiles says again and chokes when Derek twists his hand just _right_. Vaguely, he thinks this probably isn’t the best time for making out. Lydia will rip both their heads off if they’re late and Stiles is pretty sure his legs are going to be pudding. 

“That’s more than I need,” Derek murmurs against the corner of Stiles’ mouth. He licks over Stiles’ bottom lip, dips his head down to nose at his jaw and mouth at his neck. For a split second, Stiles fears Derek wants to suck a bruise into his neck--and while he’s very appreciative of it every other day, he doesn’t want to walk down the aisle with a giant fresh hickey on his throat. However, Derek just peppers his neck with feathery kisses, tiny soft brushes of lips against Stiles’ skin and over his pulse point that have Stiles tilt his head back and moan quietly.

“Don’t overestimate yourself,” Stiles says breathlessly, somehow manages a smirk but he’s so gone already. He has no idea how Derek even does that. Well, he does. A hand on his dick. It does wonders to Stiles’ anxiety. 

Derek licks a stripe up Stiles’ neck to the hinge of his jaw. Stiles can feel the grin tugging on Derek’s lips, breath hot against his ear as he murmurs, “Oh yeah?”

Stiles does a full body jerk when Derek thumbs at his slit biting down hard on his bottom lip. He hates how much smug Derek turns him on, hates how much and how fast it gets him going when Derek leans in close, nips at his neck and catches his earlobe between his teeth. 

Derek’s thumb is circling the tip of his cock, smearing precome around and Stiles thinks his legs are going to give out any moment. He gasps for air as Derek leans back again, the look in his eyes intense, and hoarsely croaks, “You’ve done better things than that.”

Derek lets go of his dick then. Stiles whines low in his throat at the loss of the touch, the pressure; he’s so hard it aches. But when he reaches down to touch himself, Derek slaps his hand away. Just when he wants to complain, Derek’s on his knees in front of him pushing down his dress pants and boxers. Stiles’ mouth falls open on a groan that he can’t keep in for the life of his when Derek wraps his lips around Stiles’ throbbing cock and swallows him down. 

It’s hot and wet and perfect and Stiles screws his eyes shut, clenches his hands into fists and shudders. Derek swallows tightly around him before he draws back to lazily lick up the length of his erection. Stiles opens his eyes again to stare down at him--his _fiancé_ \--and Derek locks his gaze on him while he pushes the tip of his tongue into his slit. 

Derek takes him in again, sliding his lips down Stiles’ length with a dirty squelching sound. He hollows out his cheeks, sucks hard on the head of his cock, and it makes Stiles’ eyes roll back in his head. Usually, Derek takes his time blowing him but Stiles can tell that he wants to get Stiles off now. He reaches up to fondle with Stiles’ balls, releases him again and licks at the junction between his cock and his balls. Stiles chokes out a moan. It feels so good, so much; he’s shaking and whimpering. 

Derek catches another bead of precome with his tongue. Stiles can’t tear his eyes off this view, he never can, and he knows Derek loves it, loves when Stiles looks at him and he can look right back. Slowly, Derek closes his mouth around him again, dragging his mouth painfully slowly down. Stiles reaches down, touches the corner of Derek’s mouth where it’s stretched tight around his cock. It goes straight through his dick when Derek hums, sucks a little bit harder, licks purposefully at the underside of his head. Stiles doesn’t even realize he’s letting out a string of choked off moans and sobs and gasps.

His legs are trembling and he’s so close. Derek’s soft moans only encourage him, sending sparks down Stiles’ spine, warmth spreading through his whole body. His balls draw up tight; Derek swallows around him, and Stiles comes hotly down his throat with a strangled groan on his lips. 

Derek swallows everything, releasing Stiles’ dick with an obscene sound from his mouth. His lips are swollen and reddened, beautifully so, and Stiles bends down to kiss him, unable to stop himself. He shivers pleasantly when he tastes himself on Derek’s tongue as Derek licks into his mouth, nips at his bottom lip. 

Derek cups Stiles’ neck with one hand and palms his dick with the other, his hard-on clearly standing out against his pants. 

“Let me,” Stiles offers hoarsely, voice a little shaky. 

“No,” Derek denies and loosely grabs Stiles’ wrist that was reaching down. “Go back to your room. We’ll never see the end of it if they catch us together now.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. That, he can manage any time. “Like they wouldn’t know either way.”

“They’re too busy to pay attention.”

“But--”

“I’ll be fine. You can reciprocate tonight. In length.”

Stiles pouts but agrees reluctantly. He pulls up his pants and Derek kisses him all through buckling his belt. 

“By the way,” he murmurs against Stiles’ lips before he opens the door for Stiles. “You don’t have a hole in your pants. I checked.” 

Stiles opens his mouth to respond, outraged that Derek’s obviously been listening in, but Derek shuts the door in his face. 

He quickly makes his way downstairs and stands in front of the mirror to check if he’s too obviously disheveled or debauched. Surprisingly, he doesn’t look too bad, however, his lips are just as swollen and red as Derek’s. 

He feels ridiculously blissed out and his head is clear, he isn’t freaking out anymore. He doesn’t even feel anxious or nervous; he doesn’t worry that something might go wrong. All he can think about is that he’s going to get married to Derek in only a few moments and the thought makes his heart swell with joy. He’s going to get married to the person he’s been stupidly in love with for so long, the person that just knows him and gets him, and even blows him right before the wedding just to take his mind off things and calm him down. Stiles is just fucking lucky. 

They walk down the aisle together. Derek looks ridiculously handsome and he’s smiling, small and soft, making Stiles’ heart thump against his ribs eagerly. He can’t keep the grin off his face, can’t stop thinking about how perfect Derek is for him; can’t stop thinking that Derek just _gave him head right before the wedding_ , and it’s glorious.

All he can see is Derek’s face, the tender expression on his face and the tiny smile that’s just for him. And even though he’s not full on grinning like Stiles is, Stiles knows Derek’s just as happy in this moment. He almost feels a little guilty that he only listens to half of the speech the priest says; he’s too lost in Derek’s eyes, in the soft line around his mouth, his five o’clock shadow (Derek shaved but Stiles insisted on the stubble, at least a little bit of stubble); too lost in the thought that he is getting married and it’s the best thing in the world. He’s so happy he wants to walk around giving away free hugs. 

Stiles decides to screw his prepared vows, improvises and thinks it sounds sincerer than anything he could’ve ever come up beforehand. Derek holds his hand, thumb rubbing reassuringly over the back of his hand. He feels warm and tingly all over.

When Derek recites his wedding vows--and Stiles can feel his happy tears well up behind his eyes--he leans in and just presses a kiss to Derek’s lips. He chuckles lightly when Derek reciprocates immediately, even though he has a look on his face that says Stiles caught him off guard. Derek seems a little dazed after, pause stretching before he picks up his vows again. 

Stiles can see Erica narrow her eyes at him from behind Derek’s back. He looks back at his fiancé slash husband-to-be-in-only-a-few-minutes. Stiles just kinda wants to lick him all over. It’s a little depressing that there’s a reception after this, he’d much rather drag Derek into the bedroom right away. 

A motion behind Derek’s back catches his eye and he sees Erica grinning at him, too wide, all teeth. She pushes her tongue repeatedly into her cheek. 

On any other day, Stiles would glow like a red light. Today, he nods just the slightest and mimics her by pushing his tongue into his cheek too. Erica nods with a waggle of her eyebrows. When Stiles looks up at Derek, Derek stares at him. He’s definitely caught on to what’s going on, casts a quick look over his shoulder at Erica. She winks at him. 

“Dude!” Scott hisses behind him.

Stiles turns his head and sees the scandalized expression on Scott’s face. He bites his lip to keep from laughing. 

“Are you kidding me?” Scott whispers, indignant, and slaps a hand between Stiles’ shoulder blades. 

Erica shushes him loudly while the priest looks a little confused between them, and the rest of the guests murmur quietly. 

Except Dad. Stiles glances at his father. His father, who heaves out the heaviest of sighs and shakes his head pinching the bridge of his nose. Melissa just grins at him.

When Stiles turns back, he swears Derek’s cheeks are a little flushed and he looks fondly exasperated. The priest clears her throat, drawing attention back to her, before she asks for the rings. Scott, the bestest of best men that he is, presents them dutifully. Derek’s grasp on Stiles is firm as he slides the ring onto his finger with lingering touches. Stiles runs the thumb of his left hand over the band, enjoying the feel of it. He gently pushes the other ring on Derek’s finger, stares at it for a little longer than strictly necessary, because that is his ring on Derek’s hand. It’s beautiful.

They’re married. 

He doesn’t know of the priest already told them to kiss or not, he doesn’t care. Stiles flings himself at Derek, pushes his lips against Derek’s mouth and lets the giddy, warm feeling spread through his body. Little sparks ignite somewhere deep behind his heart.

“I love you,” he breathlessly whispers without taking his lips from Derek’s, again and again. He feels the stretch of Derek’s mouth, smiling. 

Derek cups his cheek, drags his lips up Stiles’ face and kisses his forehead. Then he brings them to Stiles’ ear and murmurs, so that only Stiles can hear, “I’m lucky.”


End file.
